A Little Hope
by RowenaMatthewJones
Summary: The countries sped downstairs, and met up with America in the street. They watched the towers burn and the people scream as they ran past them. They were like an island, staring at the fire as hundreds of people ran past them. Then they surged forward, to run, to help, to do...something; when, with a great scream, America fell with the first tower. 9/11 fic.


**Hello once again, I really loved writing this story. If any of you for some reason find this offensive, please bare in mind that this is intended to be completely respectful to the disaster and the victims. Thanks for reading.**

It was September 11, 2001, the world meeting was today, In New York City. It was a gorgeous day, clear blue skies and comfortable weather, but how long would it last? The countries were in the middle of a discussion on trade tariffs in the Northern Atlantic when a huge crash followed by a scream from America rang out. He was clutching his arm, blood rapidly soaking his left forearm.

"America!" England yelled. Canada, France, and him were at the American's side in an instant. Japan turned on the news, but there was no need, about an eighth of a mile downtown, one of the world trade centers was half destroyed and on fire. Apparently, a passenger airplane had flown into the first world trade center. The countries watched in horror as America began mumbling names, "Michel P. Colbert, Keith E. Keller, Scott Thomas Brown, Robert D. Smith, Robert J. Alendra, Jean Strakov, John Michael King, Michael L. Lewis, Thomas J. Rennat, Joseph Mollard, Patricia E. Malia, Linda M. Bollon, Sol E. Netthew, Chen Sol Zuang, Yoshiakia Zenazawa, Elizavita Budhaden... "

"What is he doing?" questioned Germany.

"He is counting the dead," said Canada.

The countries watched in silence as the counting went on. Suddenly, America lurched up, he got to his feet and ran up the stairs. All the countries followed as he got to the roof of the building. He stood on the edge of the roof, facing the burning building. Even from as far as they were, they could see the people trapped above the flames. America stretched out his hand, as if he could somehow reach them, bring them out safely. As if in response, they could see the hands of the trapped people waving flags and cloth so they would not be forgotten. Then, another plane crashed, America screamed again, and nearly fell of the ledge but Canada's hand reached out to grab him. America's other arm was shredded as well. It was clearly a terrorist attack.

"We will do something about this," ground out Germany.

A few minutes later, America collapsed, there was a wound right above his heart. Germany checked the news, "it was the Pentagon." A few minutes later his hip began to bleed, but they didn't need check the news.

"Heroes,,," America groaned out.

"Now isn't the time to be worrring about anything like that," said England.

"No, not me, Pennsylvania... passengers...they crashed the plane so that the plane wouldn't go into the white house.

I have to help." America said. He hauled himself to his feet, wrenched himself from Canada and England's hold and ran downstairs. The countries watched him run for a moment, and ran after him. They knew how important it was, to be with one's people, more importantly, they knew how much it hurt when they died. If they were going to be truthful, the American's most annoying quality was also what made them fond of him; that he was made up of their people who had left them for him.

The countries sped downstairs, and met up with America in the street, they watched the towers burn and the people scream as they ran past them. They were like an island, staring at the fire as hundreds of people ran past them. Then they surged forward, they were going to run and help, when, with a great scream, America fell with the first tower.

He knelt there, in the dust as the wall of smoke came rushing forward. He was sobbing, and all the nations were struck with a realization of how young he was. He held the world on his shoulders and yet he was not even three hundred yet. He truly looked like some eighteen year old kid, as he sat there. How many times had they been cruel? How many times had they expected so much from him, when he was only a child? Suddenly, a woman came running up, she shouted to all the nations that they should leave and then knelt beside America. She looked to be about twenty five, and she was beautiful. Her dark almost black skin was like a beacon in the white smoke, and her equally dark hair added to the picture.

"I know you are not okay, I understand, I'm not either." she said.

All the nations looked at her, she was crying too, and their tears intermingled together, leaving footprints in the dust.

"Its okay that you are not, but what is important is that you work through it. There are people in danger all around you, I want to save them, and I want to save you too, because ever single person that dies here is one more that shouldn't have. They all have families, kids, mothers, fathers, sisters... Every person here is so important, and I know that right now you are confused and in pain, but the world will go on, this day will end, and I want to help the sunset come without adding any more blood to it."

Slowly, painfully, Alfred got to his feet.

He gave a smile, not his signature empty grin, but a sad smile that was truer that any tears, and fiercer than any words. That is when the work began, and that is when the nations discovered the true heart of America, not a place, but people. His people were amazing, on their way through the ashes, teenage punks were carrying old women, the rich business men were carrying children through the streets and tearing their expensive jackets to breathe through. There were teams of ordinary citizens already organizing themselves to plunge back into the chaos to save more people. And the woman. She stood by America, leading the nations to save a child, an old man, everyone. All the way, she supported Alfred, and when the second tower came crashing down and him with it, when he was finally to exhausted to stand, she laid him on the ground, kissed his forehead, handed him over to the countries, and ran back into the smoke.

It was only after the disaster they learned her name, Jenny Anne Carmen, she had been twenty-one, just out of college with a degree in theatre, a boyfriend, and a new dog. She died trying to rescue over twenty people trapped in a burning building. All of them got out, but her.

It was after the attack that they all realized the power of a little belief, a little courage, and a little strength.


End file.
